Basic Transportation
by e-pony
Summary: When you want to get around Bay City fast, what's wrong with doing it with a little flash?


Just a light-hearted banter piece to brighten up the middle of your week. Hope you like it!

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from "Starsky and Hutch." I do occasionally borrow them, but never with fraudulent intent or with an eye to monetary gain._

**Basic Transportation**

By e-pony

"Whadda ya think?" he asks me, grinning like a 16-year-old with his first street rod.

What can I say? He's obviously pleased with himself – proud of his choice. Can he help it if his taste is different than mine? So, I just shrug and mumble something cleverly noncommittal, like "Uh…."

But this is Starsky, my partner, an experienced Bay City detective, and not so easily distracted from investigative procedure. "Yeah?" he presses the interrogation.

"Well," I add helpfully, hoping he won't notice my hesitation.

But of course he does. Attention to detail is part of the job. I watch his smile start to falter and the gleam fade from his eyes. "Well, what?" he asks guardedly.

Brilliant cop that I am, I detect the obvious. "Th-there's s-stripes," I stutter hastily, fumbling for cover.

And, surprisingly… it works for the moment. The grin is back, and Starsky is now leaning forward, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. "Yeah, stripes," he agrees enthusiastically, his eyes taking on a far-away look. "_Racing_ stripes – to make ya look fast."

I can't help but roll my own eyes. "Look _fast_!" I exclaim. "But, Starsk, you already move fast enough. Why do you need to _look_ faster?"

"'Cause it's cool!" The disbelief in Starsky's voice speaks volumes about his opinion of dense, blond-haired partners. Still, he doesn't give up, my buddy. He can be doggedly determined when extracting the truth from a reluctant snitch or a tactful partner. "Well, what about this, then, Hutch? You _gotta_ love this!"

I look closely at where my friend's pointing, but fail to see what's sparked his excitement. "It's rubber," I state matter-of-factly.

He stares at me as if I'm blind as well as thick-headed. "S'not just _rubber_, pal; it's top-quality, high-endurance, high-performance rubber! An' check out this tread! Guaranteed to grip in any weather – even the worst rain or snow."

"Starsky, old man," I try to sound reasonable, but I can hear my sarcastic streak starting to come through. Why can't the big lug just be practical for once? "I hate to tell you this, but we're in Southern California. How often do we really go out in the rain? And as for snow –"

"You're just jealous, Hutchinson," Starsky interrupts hotly.

"Jealous?!" The inanity of the accusation ignites my own temper. "Of what? There's nothing here to be jealous of!"

The hurt look on my friend's face causes me to soften almost immediately. "Buddy, remember when you left to go shopping this morning? What did you tell me? That you were only looking for 'basic transportation,' right?"

He hesitates, then softly answers, "Yeah, but –"

"No," I say firmly. "No buts. What you bought _isn't_ 'basic transportation,' Gordo. It's flash! Why do you always get suckered in by all the bells and whistles?"

"Is that what you think, huh? That I was suckered?" Starsky's angry again. "Listen, just because you like boring food and junk-heap cars an' I like the works and a high-performance ride, it doesn't make _me_ a sucker!" He stops either for emphasis or to catch his breath; I'm not sure which. "Anyway… what's wrong with a little flash?"

What, indeed? I pause to reconsider my stance, and somehow in the silence that passes between me and my partner, we tacitly agree that it's okay for us to disagree.

"So, what about the color, Hutch? You _gotta_ love the color!" Starsky's enthusiasm train comes right back on track.

"Well, it's a little bright…" I hedge.

"Whadda ya mean, 'bright'? More like patriotic, you mean –"

"Yeah, if the flag only had two colors…."

"Patriotic!" Starsky insists. "See!" He points triumphantly to the label on the shoebox. "Adidas SL76 – inspired by the upcoming Olympics, Hutch, and just in time for the Bicentennial, too! Like I said: patriotic."

If I'm a little impressed, I'm certainly not going to admit it. So, I stare at his feet for a moment before nonchalantly throwing out, "Hey, buddy, what's it to me if you wanna run around in a pair of striped blueberries…."

"Striped blueberries!" Starsky's voice is indignant. But then he pauses, shakes his head and smiles a little before adding thoughtfully, "Tomatoes? Blueberries? We gotta get ya off all that health food, Blondie. It's startin' to affect your brain."

I try to give my partner a playful shove as he turns away, but he dodges lightning-quick out of my reach.

"Hey! Y'know what, Starsk?" I ponder out loud. "Maybe those high-performance blueberries really _do_ make you faster after all!"

The End


End file.
